-Prologue

AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, and I need a beta. If anyone likes this maybe, we will get past chapter 5. This story Idea that I have is a Harry who is not good at wand magic but excels at esoteric magic, namely divination, enchanting, necromancy, and blood magic. He will never be able to stand toe to toe with Tom Riddle or even Snape as a duelist, he will never be able to transfigure like McGonagall or even Cedric. This will be a story with Harry in more of a supportive role but will have to defeat Tom Riddle. The first and last chapter of each segment of the story will be told by a perspective other than Harry. These chapters will always be marked with Prologue and Epilogue. Please tell me if you are interested in being my beta, please!

The wind howled outside the window, the gentle pattering against the roof of the tower as if the sky wept. The world outside ripped apart as lightning circled all around. A venerable man sat upon a throne-like chair, alone with his reflections. Alone with his ever-crushing hopes, his eternal sorrow. The ages passed away, bringing with it the departure from auburn to grey to white, yet despite the change on the surface, he was consistently a failure. Another crack followed harboring more light to the candlelit chamber, his powerful companion of 35 years remaining on his desk.

The wind blew and the rain fell.

Albus Dumbledore was a man of regret, constantly living in the past. A life where every decision he made had brought forth the worst results, yet people proceeded to make him shape and decide the world. Always hailing him as a great man. He wasn't a great man, undoubtedly a great wizard, but not a great man. It had only been three years prior that Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot Anthony Addington had stepped down and offered the prestigious post to him. The campaign was run essentially non-opposed despite the wizard's lack of passion for the position. For his passion had always been teaching, followed closely by Transfiguration, with ancient lore coming in a distant third. If the rumors were to be believed Silvain Boisselot was to be stepping down from his office as Supreme Mugwump of the ICW the next year and was jockeying for Albus to fill that role.

Why was the world always put upon his shoulders, Albus missed the days before his old friend's folly, back when he could freely explore his craft and share its gift amongst the young of the world. The hours passed as the pensive man looked at the future, its appearance not unlike the world outside. A turbulent storm threatening to rip apart even the foundation of the earth. It all came down to one former student, as before it came from one former friend, the problems of Britain and the larger wizarding world coming down to Albus's own mistakes and missteps. Of mishandlings and misunderstandings.

Voldemort.

It was a powerful name, it invoked fear and despair. He weaponized it, turning the name into a symbol of dread. A name that caused fear by only saying it, as if the action would summon the presence of the thing. And Voldemort could only be called a thing, formed of his former student Tom Riddle, twisted by rituals meant to invoke power not intended for this world, making pacts with infernal beast bending them to his will. He converted himself to a nexus of darkness. Eroding himself to become entry point for the shadow plane, likewise a gate leading to the Abyss, born of shadow. He was beyond saving, at this point only a leach sucking the energy of the world away, or a rat spreading its gruesome disease.

The wind howled, the sea buckled, the man was breaking.

As if the magic he controlled was not terrible enough, he had even more powerful magic at his disposal; pure, unbridled charisma, and a blazing intellect. As a boy he had noticed the inherent distrust of those of non-magical birth, questioning how they had come to be. He had found the answers, understood them and believed them, but also had an understanding that the question itself could become a weapon.

So, he did.

It had begun early, targeting his fellow students, whispering to them, telling sweet lies. By picking the right people, future journalist, politicians, influencers, and duelists he was able to change the whole of Great Britain. The years brought about a world of distrust for their fellow wizard for reasons outside their influence, but unlike Albus's former friend, Tom believed none of his propaganda. He only cared for the weapon that it provided.

His movement to power was just as calculated.

Albus remembered his first day upon the Wizengamot, an appointment that felt unfitting for him. He was only a teacher, he had studied how to run the world, but it was a past he hoped to escape, its memory brought with it a shattered heart, a shattered dream, and a shattered family. As he sat, he could see the unrest, the unease which some members held for ideas which seamed basic.

Albus took up his wand in the present, summoning forth a saltshaker, dumping its contents on the desk, pulling the salt with his magic and shaping it, again losing himself in thought.

Over the years the people became more and more fanatical, more and more uneased, pushed further and further. They moved from unease to downright hostile. Good people started becoming more uncommon, either converting or vanishing. Then the horrible day in 1970 happened. September the first, as Hogwarts began, Albus, who was beginning his fifth year of Headmastering the most prestigious school in the world, forced from his love of Transfiguration, received a special edition of The Daily Prophet.

It had depicted a horrible thing, a vile thing, 17 men and women of nonmagical origin dropped from the ceiling of the Ministry of Magic. Included was the Minister herself Millicent Bagnold. Floating in the atrium with the bodies was a green skull with a snake slithering out of it, the dark mark. It was the beginning of a horrible civil war. The government had cut the military following the peace after the previous conflict, as standing militaries were an uncommon thing in the wizarding world. Informants, ineptitude, and outright betrayal weakened the Aurors. Albus seeing the failure of the world around him organized a paramilitary group under his command, to counteract the vile men on the other side.

It was an organization of friends, former comrades of his previous campaign, and like-minded individuals. Years later Albus looked back upon himself, wondering what separated him from the opposing headpiece of the movement. Both moved people for the best decision, both men had killed, both men commanded with the knowledge the person doing said command would end up dead.

Lightning flashed.

In the present his circle was completed, moving in a block of wood and a bit of plant he powered it, using his will and the instructions of his circle to shape and change the thing into a lit pipe, ready to relieve stress. It had only been three hours since they held the somber Halloween feast. Breathing in and out, letting the magical weed fill his lungs, bringing with it relaxation, he went back to his remembering. Outside nature relentlessly assaulted the castle, deep rounds of thunder shaking the very foundations.

Introducing his group turned the war, its organization and goals being clear and defined with a genius veteran as a director being enough to make the 'Death Eater's' begin to know failure and defeat. Until HE took the field for the first time. In the town of York Albus's Order of the Phoenix, named for his companion Fawkes, captured Rodolphus Lestrange. He was a man who specialized in necromancy, turning the dead into monsters in only minutes, and one of the suspected generals of the opposition, if not the leader.

Then he appeared. He walked up to the group which was comprised of Dominic Burke, an Auror who had countless men behind bars because of his actions, Sofia Armstrong, a woman who had defeated a general of his former friend, and Skyler Fuentes, one of the brightest charms minds that Albus had ever met, only three years out of school and already he was petitioning to have her be the heir apparent to the charms position.

The man walked up to the group, his skin wraith-like, his eyes like the burning inferno of a Volcano. He split the neck of Dominic without a word, followed by rotting Sofia to dust in seconds, but Skyler was the worst. He toyed with her, in the duel that ensued he removed a finger of her non-wanded hand one at a time before finally sent a curse that turned her intestines into snakes. It was then that Albus arrived, all too late. Despite reverting the magic upon her, he still held her in his arms until death took over her. She asked him to pull the memory of the monster from her mind and he did. Even with the differences, there was no doubt it was his former student.

The boy had always been on Albus's watch list, a talent would be undercutting it, he breezed through the curriculum, was popular, and did it all as an orphan. After graduation, Albus expected to see his name somewhere doing something great, but that day, calling role for his sixth-year class was the second to last time he had ever heard his name naturally. He had almost forgotten the boy after so many years, he had been to and won a war since teaching him. The only other time he had met the boy was for an interview for Defense Against the Dark Arts, which he reluctantly had to give to someone else, as Tom didn't have the experience for the subject.

Albus questioned what day Tom Riddle died, for the inhuman which had slaughtered Albus's friends was not Tom, but Voldemort. Dumbledore wondered when he had begun crying.

The years passed, few wizards were sent by the ICW to help against the dark magic user, no matter how threatening Voldemort was, with the warlord Bahman Tavakoli campaigning, pushing borders, killing people outside his own, pulling a host of demons to his aid through the mass sacrifice of innocents. Compared to Bahman Tavakoli Voldemort was a small scale villain when looking internationally. What was the fate of a single country when contrasted to the world?

The world flashed, the Black Lake moving with force, its waves growing ever taller slapping against the stone of Hogwarts, pushing against it. The surface was rougher than a dragon's back and more temperamental. It was as if the Kraken itself was awakening beneath the swells, harking forth an apocalypse upon its people.

Then everything changed on a single day. A day that gave Dumbledore hope. Sadly, it also filled him with dread. The year before Lucy Loveryk, his former divination professor, retired. This brought him to his position of a job interview with a young woman. She was petite with curly hair, large round glasses upon her face. She schooled at Ridgeland but held a passion for teaching, and a gift for many branches of divination. Then in the middle of the meal the two were sharing, which masqueraded as an interview, she stiffened, her eyes rolling in her head, her magic flaring out around her. She opened her mouth and words spewed out, despite her lips not moving to form them.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...

and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...

and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

The rush of magic reminded him of an earlier time in his life. When he was a child wondering Knockturn Alley with his dear friend, stopping within a shop brought forth an unassuming witch, but she two held forth a terrible power. She two had spoken with an unmoving mouth.

The form once combined will be broken...

The brothers will be split, kin blood spilt, and brothers split again...

The ambitions will fail, and be succeeded...

The artifact collected betraying and loyal...

The host lost without a head, brothers broken, tarnished again...

Years later that woman would be sacrificed for an evil man to locate an object that should have never been found, an object that was betraying yet loyal, an object that could win a war but inevitably lost it.

Knowing the danger, the woman was in he hired her on the spot, less for his need and more for her protection, the blood of a genuine prophet was a powerful thing and a dangerous thing.

Lightning flashed, rain fell, the smoke of his pipe dwindled. Fawkes slept upon his perch, ever there, loyal to him. A friend who understood the poor man better than anyone, understanding the sleepless weeks, powered only by his pure need to save as much as he could. To redeem himself for past mistakes.

It was only days later when a former student had approached Albus. He was also a brilliant pupil, newly graduated as of two years ago, his mind was untouchable when it came to potions, becoming the youngest master of the art in Britain in recorded history. He stood in front of Albus in tears, regret in his eyes. The boy explained how he was a follower of the Dark Lord Voldemort, how by happenstance he had overheard the prophecy. How ecstatic he was at the knowledge. Although he was caught and did not overhear the entire prophecy he had heard a part, the first two lines. He knew his master would be pleased by the information, though he never expected the Dark Lord to take the word born to be the literal birth of a child. He planned to kill any child born at the end of July to any opponent.

Severus, the man before him, had an old friend, his first love, a red-haired beauty named Lily who was expecting. The witch was a known member of the order, she and her husband had dueled against the monster and survived three times despite being recent graduates. Severus pleaded for her life, promising anything, no matter the cost she needed to be safe.

A tactic such as this was directly up Voldemort's alley, reaching out with his mind he touched Severus's own. Feeling only remorse and fear until the thoughts became a void Albus decided to trust Severus.

This was the correct move. Of his direct allies, five sets of them had a timetable birth for the end of July. Two passed the date, but three did not. They murdered Erik Robertson and his pregnant wife Anna in transit to the hospital on the 29th. Frank and Alice Longbottom gave birth to a healthy boy on the 30th while hiding under a Fidelis charm. The following day Harry was born to James and Lily Potter also under the Fidelis. The boy would be a year and three months today for at least another hour.

A brilliant doe cut his musing short, formed of positive energy, fueled by love. Outside the monsoon had ended, the wind bringing with it the only reminder to what was. Through the magical construct a voice rang, a sobbing Severus.

"Dumbledore, she is dead. Lily is dead. The house is destroyed but she is dead." His words interlaced with sobs and wheezing. How he could cast such a positive spell while in such a sad state spoke to his capability as a wizard. All the same, Albus felt his heart give out a little more. Many a young life lost, spilt, a talent gone from the world. If Lily was dead it was probable that James and the baby Harry were too. The poor boy was never given a chance. A puddle was beginning below the old man, aged beyond his years by the unrest and hardship of his life. "But Dumbledore, the Dark Lord is not here, and the boy, he lives." Albus sat up. Confused, the boy lived, how, how was he alive, why would Voldemort leave him living. Severus said the Dark Lord was gone, was he defeated, was the prophecy completed? How?

"Fawkes, to Hagrid."

The bird awoke and, without hesitation, latched onto Albus, transferring them both to the hut of his most trusted friend. Knocking violently on the door.

"C'min, C'min." The ground beneath Albus shook slightly as the door opened revealing the kind face of Hagrid, the gentle giant. "Oh, headmaster, err, what can I help you with at this hour?"

"Hagrid, I need you to do me a favor."

"Anything Albus." The kind man replied.

"This is a portkey to the house of the Potters, something happened there. I need you to go there and guard the child, Harry. Voldemort attacked his house and the boy is the lone survivor." He knew this because of the message being from Severus and not James, for James would have killed the former death eater the moment he was on the premises.

"But Albus, I cannot portkey well, as you know." The man of giant's blood spoke. His natural repulsion from magic caused this effect. However, not all Portkeys were crafted by Albus.

Albus gave him a warm smile, with a hint of pride, "I think you will find this one to carry you to your destination, even within the grounds of this school. The word is Family." Speaking the word as the old man had requested let Albus alone with Fawkes. "To Minerva and Poppy please." He spoke fishing out paper and scribbling quick messages on them. Walking back to the castle had him meeting the two witches, highly specialized in their fields, in the Entrance Hall.

"Albus, what is this about the Potters, and Voldemort being gone?" His first staff hire asked him.

"Just as I said, it seems that Harry is alive and Voldemort is gone, Poppy, I will bring the child here for you to look over, Minerva I need you to find a home for the boy, for I fear that he no longer has his." His eyes had long been wet, he doubted they looked anything but at the current time.

Assigning the task as he had, thankful that it was a Friday and that he did not have to force classes tomorrow, he took off to his old home. A place full of memories, in retrospect the ones he despised the most at the moment were the ones he held the dearest. Sitting in a room with only him and Ariana, discovering the wonders of knitting, Albus reading. Her innocent voice declaring the socks in her hand was meant for her favorite big brother Alby. The one who keeps her safe and warm. His mother kissing his head and taking away his book, reading The Tales of Beetle and Bard for him, allowing him to sleep. His father playing with the boy on one of his few brakes from work, dropping nuggets about the wonders of magic. Those were the memories he remembered fondly, hating his younger self for the boredom, the rebellion, and the resentment he had felt originally.

His apparition had him in front of his property, a minor house of little importance. Walking the street surrounded by his past mistakes, his failed ambitions, and his destroyed family, he walked to the house which held the Potters. It stood, the second-floor smoldering with a sizeable hole, the fact that he could see the house had him angered.

They had entrusted Sirius Black to hold the secret of their home, by having such a weakness in the house let the protections on it to be second to none. The coward had sold them out or perhaps been against them the whole time. The Blacks had always been an evil family, perhaps they had set his entire childhood up for this moment, they were a canny group and wouldn't put such a deception past them. Dumbledore should have been their secret keeper, just another mistake in the sea of his life. At the door of the house stood Hagrid next to a motorbike, in his hands a baby, quiet despite the upheaval of his life. Albus walked up to the pair, seeing the tears upon Hagrid's face.

"James and Lily, dead sir, they are dead." The man sobbed. Albus reached out grasping up his shoulder.

"But this child lives, may I see him." Hagrid gingerly did so. The boy continued his sleep. His brown hair split in the front revealing an angry-looking sowilo rune. Drawing a bit of sage out of his robe he lit it with his wand, twirling it he muttered a Chinese Proverb, in Chinese, 'Look for a thing until you find it and you'll not lose your labor'. The spell took hold pulling the burning sage into the spell flooding Albus's thoughts with the truth. A curse of death had hit here, Avada Kedavra, the wand motion was the same vein as the rune on the head of the boy.

The spell was one of the closest things to be true evil. It was a spell that required the user to be calm, in a clear mind. The spell only operated on the person of question, it only acted on a single mark. The practitioner could not move besides the motions of the spell and had to have no emotions for the person of target other than loathing. It was taxing and hard on the body, leaving most people who cast it in an undead state, unable to shape magic ever again.

Using this spell was a specialty of Voldemort, he was one of the few wizards who had ever weaponized the spell to such a degree. Albus had seen the beast throw the spell three times in one combat, the sign of that bolt always appearing to signify the loss of life. Voldemorts aim with the curse always struck true. That he could cast the spell in three seconds was even scarier.

Avada Kadavra was always fatal when it hit the mark and it appears the very essence of the target is driven from its body, leaving behind an empty shell. The pain is assumed to be attributed to the curse is unimaginable, for the fraction of time the rune is inscribed it takes the soul piece by piece out of the body. This separation is an agony that surpasses the use of the torcher curse even. Or so Herpo the Fool says in his writings, no man since has been evil enough to test the man's theories, not even Voldemort.

The scar on the boy's head housed a leech. Voldemort had detached part of his soul and somehow anchored it in Harry. Albus's knowledge excluded a way to remove a soul fragment from someone, phylacteries and Horcruxes notwithstanding. One which removed the whole soul and the other which split it indiscriminately, he would have to look into a way to change the evil ritual of the Horcrux if he ever wished for Harry to be at peace, for having a gate to the Abyss, a passage formed of shadow leaching on the source of a person, must not be good for someone. Already Dumbledore could feel the shift in the boy's magic, what used to be full of positive and fey influence had transformed into something more sinister.

The last piece of the scar with another odd magic, a feminine part. It was not unlike a shield, though specialized. It seemed to limit the exposure of the soul piece, not allowing the more experienced personality to overtake the whole of the soul, merely letting a soft bleed through.

Albus felt his trance end, wiping a bit of blood from his nose, the harsh magic only being usable because of the magical nature of Halloween. Hagrid stood with worry but Albus was only focused on Harry, what a special boy. "Please take him to Hogwarts Hagrid, to Poppy, with haste." Letting the two go he entered the house. The entry room held many symptoms of transfiguration, the cause of them was located on the floor, his wand in hand and eyes closed, most likely by Hagrid. He looked so young, his hair was free, almost still dancing. The sword in his chest probably killed him instantly, though the house showed signs of quite the fight, James was an amazing wizard. Sorrowfully he was severely hampered, he was defending his wife and could not use the full scope of his transfiguration abilities due to the small room. The sword was most presumably of his make, modeled after the fabled weapon of Gryffindor, Voldemort likely saw it as an ironic way to finish a rival to his cause, James probably wouldn't have rathered a different way. Looking around the room he saw another wand, this one was Lily's, she had died without being equipped to defend herself it seemed.

Walking to the second floor he moved to the open door, to the nursery. Stepping over a pile of robes seeping with dark magic he approached Lily Potter. The magic in the air reminding him of the magic within Harry, it seemed that Lily still was capable to save her boy, even without a wand. The look of peace upon her face was something strange given the rune etched into her skin. As if she was the triumphant one. The room around them was destroyed, this included a book. The text while damaged left an echo of what it was, a magic that involved death, but brought about positive energy from sacrifice, the positive and negative planes working together to pull forth protection. Voldemort, the ever-confident, must have missed the ritual circle made in blood on the floor, the form and text of the circle were also destroyed.

Pulling out another shaker of salt Albus began to draw, then he painted with it, the shapes he formed telling magic what to do. Fueling the circle brought forth the shape into a new form, taking the salt and turning it into fine sand. Using a specialized charm, he pulled the sand into a bottle. He could already feel his magic begin to struggle against him. Using powerful time magic, like he was about to perform, would be his last spell of the day. He worked his wand, twirling the air around them, guiding the fine sand. He voiced out in ancient Akkadian, a Babylonian dialect.

Sands of time move back time

Pull forth memory, pull forth time

Remember the world for how it was and how it is

Reveal the death, show me death

Sands of time move back time

It was a miracle that this even happened on Halloween. The spells of death only worked on Holloween and the fifth of May. The shadows showed Albus felt the grip of shadows on his heart, the magic of the shadow plane never doing well to his command. He coughed up blood and watched as slight wrinkles appeared upon his hand. He witnessed the shade of Lily Potter pleading, standing in front of the crib of Harry. Only she and the Voldemort displayed. Albus knew it was Voldemort as the feather of Fawkes presented through the shadow's wand, its connection to Albus allowing it to appear. Then the spell was cast, and Lily's shadow left, her spirit leaving thus not being able to imprint on the world of shadows. Voldemort stood before the boy, appearing to talk to him. Then he cast the spell, it hit the boy. The boy's essence faded and miraculously returned, as if the boy had died but come back, Albus watched as a shimmer from the contact point hurled the magic back striking the Voldemort. The shadow of Voldemort broke, seeming into three parts. One disappeared, one fled the room through the opening in the wall, the final smallest piece attached to the magical hole in the child's head.

Voldemort was defeated, for now. Killed by a child, who had died but wasn't dead. With the power of his mother. Britain needed to know, with the head gone the snake would follow. He sat down, penning a summary of what happened to the current minister of magic, Nobby Leach, who was reappointed to the office after the former minister's demise. He grabbed a vial of Lily's blood, whatever she had done was powered by her, maybe he could change it slightly.

"Fawkes, as much as I hate this could you bring me to my chambers, I think that I can do no more tonight."

He was asleep as soon as he hit the pillow.

The next morning saw his first stop at Poppy's medical wing. "How is the child."

"He is fine and healthy, all except for that leach on his head. Albus, that... thing, it is so allusive and hard to detect that I could barely find it. I don't see it taking over any time soon and other then the additional energy he will need since he will waste quite a bit on feeding the magic that combats against it." She looked at the boy with pity. Whether for the loss of his parents in his early life or the horrible thing he carried within him Albus didn't know.

"Thank you, Poppy, for taking care of him for me, why don't you get some rest." He said, grabbing the boy who had still yet to speak.

"It is no problem, he is such a quiet child, and so very sweet. He looks like James you know. I saw that boy enough to know that." She said, a sad smile appearing on her face.

"Yes, he does, though he has his mother's eyes."

The pair left allowing the nurse to get some well-needed sleep. Albus, upon reaching his office, altered a chair into a cradle. He felt the strain as he did, burning within his pathways, he needed to rest his magic. The boy let out a giggle watching the magic. "Pa." He yelled out. Albus choked, realizing that the transfiguration master that was James would most likely do these things to entertain the child. Fresh tears appeared to replace the old ones, Harry staring at Albus with the innocent eyes the entire time, confused about where his father was, wondering when he would be back. The Daily Prophet chose that time to arrive.

The paper declared Harry a hero, calling him 'the-boy-who-lived', saying he single-handedly won the war. Flipping through he saw how the Aurors conducted many raids, catching the Death Eaters at the sight of their meeting place, confused why their lord never returned most didn't even fight. Few did however escape. After partaking in the meal, having a child solution brought for the boy, Minerva returned to his office.

"His closest relatives are Petunia and Vernon Dursley, they live at Number 4 Privet Drive. They are muggles. If we instead look for his closest magical relative it is Sirius Black, who is now wanted I believe, followed by the wanted Bellatrix Lestrange, and finally Narcissa Malfoy. Of these, he would most likely go to Malfoy."

"What about Andromeda?"

"She was disinherited remember since she is no longer a Black, she refuses all rights of being a Black." She reminded him. That poor child.

"Well, then I guess I will write Petunia, we will bring him tonight, make sure you grab his paperwork from the house. Also, I forgot to bring with me their bodies, be sure that Poppy gets them." She looked disappointed in him; he shared her feelings.

He quickly penned the message as soon as Minerva left.

Dear Petunia,

This is the second letter that I have ever written to you. For the second time, I wish it were under better circumstances.

As you most likely know, our world was at war, a villain sought to rid the world of people like your sister. He is now gone, defeated, by a young boy.

That young boy is named Harry Potter and he is your nephew. He is a quiet boy with eyes that drip with intrigue. It was your sister's magic, and love for her son that allowed him to live and win. Sadly, she did not. Both she and her husband have passed on, leaving this boy with no home.

As you are his closest relative the responsibility for his life falls to you.

Here are some important things to note when raising a magical child, as well as some special things about Harry in particular.

He will at some point display magic, no matter what it does not punish him for it, harming a child after he uses magic can leave memories which then later harm the magic use

If he does magic in public it is no worry, a part of an ancient spell is how magic that does not come from a wand is ignored by people who do not know magic exists

Socializing is key for Harry, as for when he enters the wizarding world, he will be quite famous, he would do well to be forced into public situations and public speaking, maybe have him join a choir

He will need more food than the average child, this is due to a strain on his magic

You can tell him about magic whenever you wish if you ever want you can post me and I will send you books which you can read to him so that entering the world is not so much a culture shock

All and all, care for him, please.

I am sorry for your loss.

Albus Dumbledore

After sealing the letter, he spent the rest of the day going between entertaining Harry and concocting a new ward for the home, based on the sacrificial nature of Lily's blood. When night had arrived, he gave the boy again to Hagrid, entrusting him to bring him to his new home. Then Dumbledore and Fawkes traveled to the boy's future home. The house was dark, as dark as the world around them, streetlamps decorating the street. Walking up to the door he worked his new creation, painting with his former student's blood made him weak, as weak as working with the shadows always did, but from it he pulled out the positive, the protective nature of his mothers work, allowing it to spread over the neighborhood and protect him from any magic that seeks to harm him while there. After completing the small ritual Albus tumbled over, into the waiting arms of Minerva.

"You old fool. What are you doing?" She admonished him.

"Just setting up some protections."

"You know Albus, I'm not sure we should leave the boy here. The muggles here seem so, ordinary, I don't know how they will feel having an Accio cast into their lives."

"Minerva, the boy has nowhere else to go. All paths lead to his death except for this one."

"You are right Albus, It's only..."

"I know, they were two of my favorites as well."

The pair sat in silence until the sound of a motorcycle entered. Hagrid had finally arrived. Taking the child from him Albus rested him in a basket, crafted from alchemy just that day. Within he slipped the letter and the boy's papers.

Setting him on the front step he knocked and started walking away, seeing lights start from inside the house.

"Good luck Harry Potter." He kissed the boy's brow and with a call of Fawkes was back in his office. From his drawer, he pulled out a bottle of firewiskey and three glasses. Pouring all three to the brim. "To the end of the war, thank you for your sacrifice, Lily." He nodded to one glass, "And James." He took to the other. His entire Saturday night was spent in his room crying. Drinking cup after cup, filling himself with every regret, remembering every face, every name, every friend who had gotten him to this place.

Today was a good day, for it was the start of peace.

Edited mistakes pointed out by Knatz and guest, sorry guest my dyslexia must have kicked in when trying to use find and replace!